From One Jashinist to Another
by TRIGGER M00NSHIELD
Summary: Throughout history there is always someone. Someone who doesn't fit the mould, someone who is different. Some of these people are worshipped as superior beings while others are ostracized, tortured… killed Sometimes… they rise up and take back what is theirs. T for Hidans language


**I kinda felt like doing a ficcything for Hidan and his origins.  
I did one for Deidara and it turned out well enough for my liking.  
This one isn't quite up to standard but its mainly because it has been rushed.  
So this is unedited.  
Maybe its because I only have about 20 minutes before I upload this and have no internet connection again for another 1 million years, maybe its because I'm lazy… Maybe just because…  
Whatever, don't complain, Ill get to it…  
Maybe…**

* * *

Throughout history there is always someone who doesn't fit the mould, someone who doesn't quite fit in, someone who is different.  
'Normal' is a concept that has no meaning in present days.  
There are some who claim to be different and stand out from the crowd, some who do strange things and dress in bizarre ways to make a bold statement to society that they are in fact, unique.  
And in their own way, they correct. They **are **all different.

There is no normal.

People live their lives striving towards this unobtainable goal and yet in their own way, no one is or ever will be the same and hence, the ideology of normal holds no meaning.

Few are the places now that are serene where communities come together as one.  
Such places have carnivals and festivals, bustling crowds, where anyone is able to fit in without having to say a word.  
Places where you never have to worry about looking different or feeling left out because where you were, everyone was different and no one was ever forgotten.  
These places existed but in the fairy tales we tell to our children to try and distract their curious gazes from the truth of the world.

That the happy places we tell them about don't exist.

Never will there be a time when the school bully ceases to be.  
Never will there be a time when governments come together and make decisions based solely for the benefit of their people and not for their own selfish greed.  
Never will the fighting cease.  
Never will the wars stop.

And all because we are not normal.  
Because we are all different.  
Why don't we realize this?

People are strange creatures, so quick to judge and so quick to hate.

There is always someone who is more different than the rest, so different, that they become known by just walking through the street, just uttering a word, just breathing the air.  
Some of these people are worshipped as superior beings while others are ostracized, tortured… killed.  
Every country has a someone.  
Every village has a someone.  
When these someones are outcast, sometimes they die...

Why won't these someones fight back?  
Why won't these someones refuse to back down?  
Why won't they rise up and take back what is theirs?

Won't someone please rise up…?

* * *

The Village Hidden in the Steam had a someone.

At the moment, that someone sat on the hill overlooking the village with his arms hugging the knees that were pulled against his chest.  
Woeful green eyes gazed over the misty trees, the red brick houses, the shinobi academy…  
All the places he hated.  
All the places that had forsaken him.  
He ran a hand through his black hair and pulled away sticky red fingers.  
Scowling, he wiped his hand against his shirt, not bothering or not caring to clean up the cut on the back of his head.

They had done it again.

Since he was born he had black hair and green eyes.  
It was nothing new, all babies were born different, it was only after being exposed to the villages strange air that they changed.  
Being blonde and brown eyed was a symbol of pride and purity for the village and was worn like a badge.  
So of course his parents had been shocked and horrified when at the age of 3, his black hair still hadn't faded to blonde and his green eyes still hadn't turned brown.  
_Just a little longer,_ they told themselves, _he will change soon._

He has to…

Yet here he was at the age of 17 with no visible sign that he had ever belonged to the village.  
_Probably,_ he mused, _he never had._

Born with a very low chakra level, the headmaster was reluctant to allow him into the shinobi academy.  
How, he reasoned, would the boy be able to fight in battle without killing himself?  
After much convincing by his parents, who couldn't stand having a non-shinobi for a son as well as an outcast, he was finally allowed to enter.  
His attempts at using his little reserves of chakra was futile.  
He couldn't create a clone, he couldn't walk on water and he couldn't climb trees.  
The only thing he seemed to be able to do was enhance his speed ever so slightly.

While being an intelligent boy, he seldom learned anything in class.  
Constantly distracted by the other students, he was always being poked and prodded, called names, abused and having his things stolen.  
His frequent run in with school bullies had left him with a very short temper and he often got into fights.

Most forms of weaponry seemed to elude him as well.  
His aim was useless.  
Shuriken and kunai had a mind of their own and often went in the completely opposite direction that he threw them.  
He couldn't handle swords very well, finding them too short for his liking and handling.  
Spears however, were something he had an affinity for and could use perfectly.  
His hand molded to the handle like he was born with it and though his fighting style was very unorthodox, it was also very effective.  
Without chakra enhanced abilities however, it proved useless against other shinobi of his level.  
His dwindling grades made his parents hate of him grow.

With little hope of succeeding, it wasn't long until he left the shinobi academy.  
He could no longer walk down the street without people pointing… staring... whispering…  
Soon, gangs of the ninja that graduated his year were chasing him, cornering him in alleys, beating him until he passed out.  
He took to carrying around his crudely cut wooden spear, wearing it on his back to offer him what little protection it could.

Not longer after he left the academy, his parents threw him out.  
He had never been loved.  
He knew he had never been loved.

When he was young he would run to his parents for comfort, only for them to turn away from him.  
He was too slow, his father would say.  
He had horrible chakra control, his mother would add.  
How could anyone take a boy with black hair seriously? They had snorted.  
Never would he become a ninja when the only thing he could do was violently swing a stick around and take a hit.

_Bastards..  
_  
He grit his teeth against a fat lip that was developing from his latest run in with the village gang and its leader, Juu.  
Yes. He hated this village.  
So here was the someone of the Village Hidden in the Steam.  
No friends, no family, no love.  
But sitting alone on this hill wouldn't feed him or keep him alive.  
Grunting as he got to his feet, the boy stumbled back down the path that had begun to wear in the grass.  
His pacing was wearing out a line.

It was only a 10 minute walk to the town centre from the hill that the village had fondly dubbed "Hangmans Hill".  
The boy had realized with distaste, that it had only been called that since he had begun to frequent it.  
He walked through the cobblestone streets with his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast.  
His black hair and green eyes stood out.  
You could see him coming a mile away.  
He sighed, _at least it cant get any wor-  
_A thud against the back of his head abruptly jolted him forward and caused a sharp pain to shoot down his spine.  
He could feel the wet trickle of blood before he felt for it.  
Turning on his heel he glared at the villager that threw the rock.

"What the fuck is your problem you fucking asshole!?"

The blonde villager glared back at him, clicking his tongue at the strange boys language.  
Shaking a fist, the man yelled back.

"You're the problem! Why don't you just curl up and die you stupid freak!?"

"Maybe I fucking will! But I'll be damned if I don't take you with me one day, you stupid fuck!"

Spinning around, the boy raced through the streets.  
Away from the man.  
Away from the yelling.  
Away from the stone.  
He was beyond tears now. He was always beyond tears.  
No one understood and no one ever would.  
He didn't ask to be born different.

His feet carried him to an abandoned house.  
The place was cracked and worn, old rocks and bricks were strewn throughout the remains of the first floor. The second floor was half standing, half falling.  
Dirty red bricks held up a mess of wood, metal and clay.  
There was a small hole blown through the wall directly in front of him and the boy could see the large room on the other side.  
He tilted his head at the dusty remains, trying to recall the story behind it.

The man who lived there used to be different as well.  
He had gone into hiding years before he was born.  
Maybe he would have answers…  
Maybe he will keep me company...

The boy quickly found out that the door was barricaded from the inside and he cut his arms and legs trying to get through the broken window.  
As he jumped to the ground dust clouds swirled around him like smoke from a floor long since walked upon.  
He dodged and ducked random wooden logs that seemed to stick out of the walls and ceiling just to annoy him.

"Argh fuck!"

He untangled himself from one of the thousands of silvery spiderwebs in annoyance before continuing on.  
Hopefully the little crawling fucker wasn't poisonous.  
He made his way around broken furniture, mildewed ornaments and rotting carpets until finally, he seemed to reach a doorway.  
The handle was rusted and tarnished, the wood was cracked and moldy but it was passable as a door.  
He didn't hesitate in opening it.

Long ago he had conquered fear. He wasn't afraid to die.  
Sometimes he even longed for the day death would take him.  
But fate it seemed, just liked to toy with him.  
He had survived throughout every single one of his wounds, no matter how deep or vital they seemed to be.  
Much to his and everyone elses disgust, he always healed quickly and hundreds of scars marked his flawless skin.  
The one down his cheek particularly annoyed him.  
He rubbed it self-consciously.  
It made him look like the Mizukage, Yagura.  
Eww..

The door didn't creak as he expected.  
It was obviously well used.  
Beyond the door was a dark bedroom, as far as he could tell.  
It was dirty and unkept, unlivable in his opinion.  
Derelict was the word that came to mind.  
He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Typical creepy bedroom scenario… A wooden desk covered in ink stains and littered with paper stands abandoned in a corner, a musty looking wardrobe in another, a creepy old man lies on the bed and WAIT, WHAT…?"

True to random mumblings, an old man lay on the dusty, moth eaten bed.  
He tilted his head and frowned.  
The old fuck didn't look dead but he didn't exactly look alive either.  
The boy approached the bed hesitantly and stood by the man, unsure what to do.  
If he was dead then he had no right to intrude on the old mans resting place.  
Despite his hate for the world, the boy still had respect for the dead.  
Hmm… What to do, what to do…  
Eventually, he reached out a hand to check the mans pulse.  
His fingers were two centimeters away from his neck when a gnarly old hand snapped up and grasped his wrist.

Most people, adult or child, villager or shinobi, would jump away in fright, scream, or at least try to defend themselves.  
The black haired boy raised an eyebrow, intrigued and surprised rather than scared.  
All was silent for a few seconds and the boy tilted his head, as per his habit, in confusion.  
A deep rumbling came from the mans chest and his nostrils flared.  
The old fuck was laughing at him.  
The raven haired boy scowled and jerked his arm away irritably.

"Whats the deal old man? You pretend to fucking die and then grab me? Are you some sort of freako sadist or something, trying to scare random people?"

The old man drew back his hand and sat up stiffly.  
He grinned at the raven haired outcast through rotten teeth and filthy grey hair.  
His pink eyes looked the boy up and down in amusement.  
A putrid stink wafted from him, like he hadn't showered in months.  
The raven haired boy wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Anyone else would run away in disgust but deep down whether he knew it or not, the boy wanted company and if this weirdo freak would give it to him then who is he to judge?  
The old man opened his mouth, exhaling stale air as he replied,

"I am most definitely a sadist. And I am most definitely a freak."

"Oh, then you're my kind of fucking guy then."

It was the old mans turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise as the teenager walked across his room, grabbed a chair from the desk and attempted to sit in it.  
It broke on contact and the boy was reduced to picking himself off the ground and muttering curses at the wretched piece of furniture, the wood of which had long since rotted.  
Seeing there was nothing else to sit on, the boy slumped onto the ground and glared around the room.

"Nice fucking place you got here," he muttered sarcastically.

The old man glanced around.  
It was true, he really had let the old house go to shit.  
Even in its hey-day it was never a pretty house but now it stood up at all ends.  
Not that he really minded.  
The house was an oddity no doubt but the boy sitting in the middle of his room, arms crossed and glaring at him was another thing altogether.  
What sort of child, the man wondered, was so lost in himself, so deprived of fear and love that he was willing to sit in a room with him for comfort?  
The old man grinned.  
_My kind of fucking guy…_

"You're different from everyone else aren't you? Are you a tourist?"

The boy snorted in amusement and what could have been annoyance.

"Tourist my fucking ass. I was born here. Never changed for some fucked up reason."

The man nodded in curious sympathy.  
He too had never changed.  
The blonde hair and brown eyes had eluded him through the years too.  
As he lost himself in his thoughts, the boy started ranting about different things, the gangs that chased him, the parents that hated him…  
He spoke about it almost like he were telling someone elses horrible twisted tale.  
Yes… A horrible fate it was, to be different.

"Hey, old man, are you listening or have you gone fucking senile or some shit?"

Jerking out of his thoughts, the old man glanced at the boy.  
He had started talking again._  
Chatterbox, this kid…_  
He seemed to be the sort of person he could pass his legacy onto.  
The sort of person he could trust to wreak havoc upon the village, just like he once did.  
The sort of person he had searched for since before he could remember.  
Yes… This boy was perfect.  
The man glanced at the boy who had stopped talking and was watching him closely.

"What would you say if I told you I could give you the power to get your revenge on these people that are so cruel to you?"

The boy tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

"Id say you had better not be fucking with me."

The man grinned again.  
Just like he had thought.  
Hatred beyond comparison, he was perfect.  
But before beginning the ritual he should at least let the kid know what he was in for…

"All power comes at a price…"

The previously narrowed eyes widened in shock and the boy shuffled backwards.

"Oh no… I don't care how fucking long you've been in here or how sexually deprived you are, you aren't gonna fucking touch me!"

The old silver haired man burst out laughing.  
He had expected the boy to be cautious sure, but not THIS.  
The raven haired boy had stopped moving backwards and was tilting his head with a frown.  
Shaking his head, shoulders still rocking with laughter, the man continued.

"Nothing like that… You crack me up kid."

Hesitantly the boy moved a little closer and his eyes narrowed once more.

"Fine. What 'price' is it that I will have to pay?"

The man stifled his laughter and looked the boy over once more.  
He was something.  
There wasn't a doubt in his mind that this kid would fuck with the natural order of things.  
Oh yes… He just wished he would live long enough to see it.  
He hadn't committed a ritual in years, his time was almost up.  
In fact, the old man would be lucky to survive the ritual itself.

"You will have to give up your mortality. That is, you will be unable to die-"

"I can live with that, seriously"

"You will be cursed to walk the earth for eternity and-"

"That's cool."

"Stop interrupting me, I wasn't finished!"

"Okay, okay, take a fucking chill pill."

The man shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose._  
What sort of monster am I about to create…?_  
He grinned.  
The worst kind no doubt.

"Your looks will change, which I'm sure you probably don't care about too much, and you will worship one god and no other."

"Fine. As long as I don't turn blue and end up looking like a shark or something…"

"You're safe."

The boy shrugged.  
Seemed good enough to him.  
He could cope with living forever and worshipping a god.  
No sweat, seriously.  
But none of it wont do him much good if he doesn't have any-

"Your chakra levels will be increased dramatically as well."  
_  
Oh… Well that fucking solves that._  
With no doubt left in his mind, the boy grinned manically and spread out his arms.

"Do what you have to old man!"

* * *

He left the house a few hours later.  
His appearance hadn't yet changed but that would come with his first kill apparently.  
The old man had died shortly after completing the ritual and had given him the silver pendant that now hung around his neck.  
He was required to complete a ritual every 6 months to retain his immortality but the old man had told him that once he got a taste for pain he would want to do it everyday.

The boy walked through the street ecstatically.  
He had discarded his shirt, no longer feeling the cold and walked through the village in a new garb of clothing.  
The shinobi sandals he had lusted after but never been deemed good enough to wear and a pair of dark green pants.  
To top it all off, he obtained a curse jutsu – his first ever jutsu.  
He couldn't wait to try it out.  
His good mood was heightened seconds later.

A kunai was thrown from a dark alley and hit him in the side, where his kidney would be.  
He felt it, and it was painful, but at the same time the feel of it was addictive, almost orgasmic.  
He glanced down at the wound and observed the red liquid spilling from his pale white skin.  
Like paint on canvas, he thought.  
Beautiful.  
To the surprise and horror of the onlookers, he yanked the kunai from his side without a second thought, pulled his spear from his back and spread his arms out wide.

"Is that all you've got motherfucker!?"

As he expected, the leader of the gang, Juu, stepped out from behind a stall looking slightly confused at the lack of pain he had caused.  
He was eager for battle nonetheless.  
Juu glanced at the boy he hated.  
Hated for no reason other than he was different.  
The boy grinned and Juu returned it, signaling his gang to wait.  
This battle was his.

Juu rushed at the boy with another kunai, he would stab him in the heart and that would be the end of it.  
He would be the village hero.  
The exterminator of the vermin that crept through the village.  
A faint smirk adorned his face as he swiped at the boy and missed.  
Wait… How could he miss? The boy had barely any chakra and couldn't run to save his life.  
What just happened?

"Surprise motherfucker!"

The voice sounded behind his head and Juu dodged reflexively to the side to escape.  
Instead of attacking him however, the raven haired boy rushed towards the rest of the gang, his sudden enhanced speed shocking them into stillness.  
With an almighty thrust, the boys spear was imbedded into the neck of a surprised gang member.  
Onlookers gasped as he yanked out the spear and a spurt of arterial blood painted his face red.  
The gang member fell to the ground with a thud, his blood pooling in the dust as he thrashed in his death throes.

The boy turned to Juu and stood tall.  
Every person in the village had come to see the commotion.  
Every person in the village gasped in shock at the boy who failed at everything.

At the boy who finally hit back.

As they watched, he brushed the hair out of his eyes and it turned steel grey, slicking itself back over his scalp and behind his head.  
His closed his eyes and when they reopened, the green had faded into a bright pink.  
A bright light engulfed his trusty wooden spear as it morphed into a silver and red three bladed scythe.  
_Fitting,_ he thought, _because for each idiot in this fucking village, I will be the one that takes their life.  
_The boy took a step forwards and paused as he caught his reflection in the window of a shop.  
Running a hand over his slicked back hair, he grinned.  
He looked completely different… and he liked it.  
The scar down his cheek disappeared as he watched.  
His whole body was new.  
His old self was dead, he was reborn.  
A startled voice sounded from the edge of the circle that had formed around him.

"Who the hell are you..? WHAT the fuck are you…?"

The villages self proclaimed 'kage' stood forward in shock, his mouth open in a gasp.

Throughout history there is always someone.  
Someone who doesn't fit the mould, someone who is different.  
Some of these people are worshipped as superior beings while others are ostracized, tortured… killed.  
Every country has a someone.  
Every village has a someone.

If that someone is ostracized, they can be killed.  
But sometimes, these someones fight back.  
Sometimes, they don't back down.  
Sometimes… they rise up and take back what is theirs.

"My name is Hidan, asshole. And I'm the fucking reaper!"

* * *

**So that is it! Until I edit it anyway…  
I have never been too good at writing serious ones haha.  
I realise that this is stupid and has no relevance whatsoever to the storyline - I highly doubt that everyone from Yugakure has blonde hair and brown eyes haha.  
But for the sake of my story - they do...  
So deal with it.**

As per usual, leave your reviews, ratings, complaints and pathetic excuses after the beep!  
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!


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